


Bindings

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: BDSM, Community: daily_deviant, Dom/sub, Dominance, Draco Malfoy - character, F/M, Hermione Granger - character, Kinky Kristmas Challenge, Kinky Kristmas Fest, Praise, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Submission, verbal control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She bites her lip to stifle the whimper tightening her throat as her body responds to the gentle touch of the rope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bindings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unbroken_halo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbroken_halo/gifts).



Hermione's legs quiver beneath her as she kneels beside the leather chair and heavy mahogany desk. She takes a deep breath, lifting her chest. The soft braided rope rubs over her sides and across her shoulders. She bites her lip to stifle the whimper tightening her throat as her body responds to the gentle touch of the rope.

The chair creaks and Draco's hand touches her hair. It's only a light touch, the barest hint of a caress, but she goes still. The brush of his fingers over the thick mass of her loose hair is a reminder of his instructions and Hermione obeys.

"Good," Draco says. Hermione shivers, every nerve under her skin sparking at the praise. She lifts her chin and presses the top of her head into his palm, silently asking for more. The gentle pressure increases, turning into a slow, deliberate stroke down the length of her hair. His fingers card through the heavy strands to settle on her nape and rest against the shallow dip below her ear. "Good," he says again. "Very good."

It takes everything in her not to wriggle with joy at the pleasure in his voice. That had been one of the points she'd been sure to cover when they first started their negotiations. Praise. Appreciation. She needs him to acknowledge what she does; she needs him to understand how hard she tries for him. Effort and practice and hard work go into their play. Draco understands, and he gives her what she needs.

The soft praise settles the ache in her thighs, eases the tension in her throat. She exhales and sinks further into position, her arse nearly touching the thick blanket that cushions her legs from the wide, ancient oak planks of the floor.

Hermione closes her eyes and concentrates on the sounds in the room. The whispering rustle of Draco's shirt as he writes; the scratch of his quill over parchment. The slow tick of the carriage clock over the fireplace mantle; the woodwind quartet playing at a low volume on the wireless in the corner. The loudest sound of all is her heart, pulse beating against her ears, blood rushing in her veins. It's pounding through her. It thrums in her wrists where the rope circles her arms. It throbs in her cunt where the rope slides between her folds. Each moment that she waits, her heartbeat grows louder, faster. It outpaces her thoughts, overwhelms her mind.

* * *

"What do you have there?" Draco wrapped his arms around her waist and settled the point of his chin on her shoulder. Hermione slammed shut the book she held but not fast enough. Draco hummed beside her ear and prodded at the cover, lifting it an inch before she could tug the book out of his reach.

"Nothing," she said. She heard the tremble in her voice and felt the heat in her cheeks and she hoped - desperately, frantically hoped - that Draco failed to notice either traitorous response.

He was too observant for that. He knew her too well. He gripped her hips and spun her around, backing her up against the wall with the book trapped between them. In the corner formed by bookshelf and wall, he kept her in place. One corner of his mouth quirked in half a smile as he looked at the books on the shelf beside her. His eyes widened and he returned his attention to her face. "What are you reading?" he asked in a low, amused voice. "What has you all flustered?"

Hermione shook her head, not in refusal to answer, but in nerves over what to say. Draco was as stubborn as she was, willing to poke and prod until he got the answer he wanted. He would back down if she said the word, the one direct word that demanded an immediate halt, but as she clutched the book to her chest and stared into his grey eyes, she knew she wouldn't say it. She didn't want him to stop. She wanted him to know what had her flushed and trembling.

"I'm not reading," she whispered. She licked her lips, cleared her throat, and pushed against his chest with the book's spine. When he stepped back, she lifted her chin and met his curious look. "I'm not reading," she said again. "I'm ... looking. At the pictures. The photographs."

Draco arched his brows and glanced at the book. Hermione peered around his shoulders to be sure no one was near enough to see them, then slowly opened the book and turned to the page that had captured her attention. In the photo, a naked woman sat on a footstool that had been draped with a swathe of black velvet. Her back was to the camera, her pale skin gleaming. She had clasped her hands behind her, covering the valley of her buttocks. A thin rope looped and wrapped around her arms from wrist to elbow in a pattern like a ladder.

Unlike most wizarding photographs, the only movement in the image was the shifting of light and shadow across the woman's skin. Hermione touched the picture, tracing the ropes around the woman's arms. "I like this," she whispered. Draco hummed softly, a quiet sound of encouragement, and Hermione turned the page.

In the next photo, the same woman stood, facing the camera. Her legs and arms were spread wide like a star and her body was webbed in several colors. Flat black ropes made an open, lacy cradle for her breasts and left her dark nipples exposed; thin velvet ribbons corseted her waist in red. A long white rope linked her wrists, ankles, and throat. She slowly lifted her head to smile at the camera before licking her lips and blowing a kiss.

Hermione closed the book and held it tight against her chest with both arms wrapped around it. "It's pretty," she said. "The ropes. The-the designs. I look at it and something inside me goes wild. It's like I can't breathe, can't move. Like I _am_ that woman, all wrapped up and waiting for my lover to grant my release and I-I-I--" She took a shuddering breath and let it out with a flustered huff. "I want to try it," she admitted.

Draco was silent. After a few heartbeats, Hermione dared to raise her eyes from his shirtfront to his face. His grey eyes had gone molten and bright as mercury. He cupped her cheeks and drew his thumb over her lips, then his mouth crashed onto hers. He kissed the breath out of her, fingers tight in her hair and hips pressing her to the wall. By the time he lifted his head, her knees had given out and his grip was all that kept her upright.

"Get the book," Draco growled against her ear, his breath hot in the hollow of her throat. "Get all the books."

* * *

Draco finishes writing and drops his quill on the desk. Hermione holds her breath as he turns his chair. He puts his fingers beneath her chin and she lifts her head to look up at him. "Soon?" she asks, the word slipping out of her before she knows it. She blushes, pressing her lips together.

Draco laughs softly. He traces the curve of her bottom lip with his thumb and smiles at her. "Soon," he says. "You've been very patient, sweetheart. Doing all right?"

At the question, Hermione wriggles her fingers and toes, testing for any hints of numbness, then nods in satisfaction. "Good. I'm good. I'm all go."

Draco's eyes are dark, his cheeks flushed pink. She catches a flicker of movement and glances down to see his hand pressed against his groin. He's rubbing his cock through his trousers, two fingers on either side of the shaft, thumb pushed to the base. Hermione watches, her mouth hanging open, her tongue touching her lip as if she can taste his cock through the air.

Draco presses his palm down and rubs one finger over the bulge at the tip of his cock, a faint dark spot appearing on the pale grey fabric. Hermione whines. She strains against her ropes to lean closer to him. Draco opens his trousers and lifts his cock out. He holds it up, a droplet forming in the narrow slit to slowly slide over the ridge onto his fingers.

Hermione follows the droplet, mouth opening wider. She loves the way Draco tastes, salt and heat and dark flowing over her tongue. She whines again, needy and anticipating. Draco smiles and pushes his fingers into her mouth.

Hermione closes her lips and her eyes. She imagines he's thrust his cock into her mouth and she flicks her tongue over him. Around, beneath, atop, circling his fingers and sucking them clean. When he pulls away, she wrinkles her nose in disappointment.

Draco gives her a pleased smile and helps her to her feet, holding her steady when the ropes shift between her legs and a tiny, carefully placed knot pushes at her clit. She spreads her legs and bends her knees, forcing the knot against her clit again. She gasps when Draco smacks her arse once in a gentle warning.

"No," he says, pulling her upright by the ropes around her ribs. "That's not for you to do. Even if you're not using your hands, it still counts as touching yourself, and that's not allowed."

She doesn't apologize because she's not the slightest bit sorry but she nods to acknowledge the reprimand. Draco kisses the corner of her mouth and leads her across the room to a velvet-topped footstool in front of the fireplace.

Hermione bounces on her toes before taking a seat, her position mimicking that first photograph she'd shown him. She tips her head back and shakes out her hair. With an arch of her spine, her breasts bulge through the lattice of ropes around her torso. She hears Draco grunt a second before she hears him stripping and she bites her lips to hide a smile.

He steps in front of her, his cock in his fist, the firelight dusting his pale skin with gold. Standing between her spread legs, he rubs his cock on her lips and cheeks to leave thin smears of precome on her face. Hermione opens her mouth and licks the tip. Draco grunts again, his face turning almost as dark as the engorged head of his cock, and he thrusts into her.

Hermione relaxes her throat and looks up at his face. She inhales, stretches against the ropes, feels them slide over her body and Draco slide over her tongue. She smiles, waiting for her release.


End file.
